The Four Winds Quartet: Part 1: The Queen and Her Isbjørn
by Sapphira Pendragon
Summary: When Anna falls deathly ill on Elsa's 23rd birthday, the poor kingdom is devastated. So when an isbjorn shows up one night offering riches and her renewed health, Elsa accepts. The catch? She must live in his palace for 1 yr. Her arrival renews an old bargain, one that puts the kingdom and her heart at stake. For the troll queen lives. Retelling of East o the Sun, West o the Moon.
1. Prologue: Once Upon A Time

Once upon a time – isn't that how all your fairy stories begin these days? A wave of a magic wand, a click of the ruby heels, a tumble down an unsuspected rabbit hole into a land of fantasies. A place built from nothing more than forgotten dreams and wishful thinking. It's a dangerous place, that land of stories. A place where silliness abounds, rolling in like the fog from the fjord on a summer's eve, muddling the mind, dampening the senses. A place where you can forget yourself, waste away to nothing, a bundle of quivering bones and blood vessels. Cocooned inside your head so long as the hallucinations hold. You forget just where it was that fine line between reality and lies blurs. There's no hope for you if you cross it. Once you sweep your toes across that boundary, thinking to be the first to explore the depths of that rabbit hole, to dance your way into oblivion in those devilish shoes, to dare attempt sorcery, you'll forget who you really are.

You'll enter a world where strictly only the good are beautiful, the bad hideous, and an armor bedecked prince astride a gleaming steed is the only one who can save the day. Or a huntsman perhaps, though even they tend to be princes in disguise. Where damsels sing from towers, and birds swoop down to peck up lentils scattered in the ash.

Where love conquers all evils.

Well, there is some truth to that one, actually. I was once told of a man who came to this world in the garb of a mortal. He lived for thirty three years and died, killed by the very people he came to save. His friends scattered, one betrayed him, leaving him to suffer the mob, murdered by strangers. For God so love the world…

He didn't stay dead, though. No. Death could not hold him. Because of his love, his sacrifice, he defeated Death, conquered the grave. He rose, alive. Evil no longer grasps the keys of Hell in his cold, gnarled fingers.

But that is a story, if the truth can be called such a thing, for another time. For time is something we don't have of abundance. We never do. A story has remained locked away in my heart all these years, a story we swore never to tell, never to speak of even among ourselves. Five of the six of us are dead now, angels of light. I don't begrudge them, leaving me here to walk alone, leaving this withered hag to hobble and shuffle her way home. What lies beyond is far greater than anything found in this world. In my narrow mind I think they deserve it more than I ever have.

The grandchildren are sweet though.

Soon, I know, I will be gone too. As the years flitter by, my hair thins to snowy white, my hands web, my voice crackles, and I know. Call it premonitions of the elderly.

Yet the story, the tale, the truth if you will, has become more and more stark, like blood spattered on freshly blanketed snow. I can not say it is a pleasant one, all posies and sunshine like the once-upon-a-times-happily-ever-afters so popular these days, the ones you so enjoy. I'd never dream of telling it to a child. It's certainly not one your mothers would approve of.

No, once upon a time is no place to start. T' would mislead you, make you think this is something it's not. It's full of pain and sorrow, treachery and fear, war and death…so much death.

But it's also of faith and hope, courage and no small amount of luck - or pluck. Funny how often the two appear side by side, running hand in hand with stupidity.

And love – true love.

I've heard of some telling of it, a fraction, a sliver of the truth. With added embellishments and wishful thinking that makes me cringe. Perhaps you've heard of it. I believe it goes fancifully as _East of the Sun, West of the Moon_. They've captured some aspects; the bear, the prince, the enchantment, the wind, the trolls. As for the rest, the happy ending, you'll have to decide for yourself, trust an old woman's less than eloquent ramblings have you. Or move right on your way, traipsed along down your path.

I am crazy after all.

Shall we begin?

 _Many years ago, in a poor kingdom far to the north, there lived a troubled queen and the sister she loved more than anything in the world…_


	2. Chapter 1: A Tale of Two Sisters

**Disclaimer: I do not own Frozen, unfortunately.**

 _"It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair..."_

 _-_ Charles Dickens, from _A Tale of Two Cities_

* * *

 _Nearly two years after the Great Thaw…_

Her old bedroom was situated in the ancient West Wing of the castle, built when knights and jousting tournaments ruled the day and feudalism held the peasantry in bondage. Luther nailed his five and ninety theses to the unyielding wooden door of the church, radicals in Florence experimented with linear perspective and fresco. And Ingvar Gustavus I, their first king, the High King of Arendelle, built his palace. It wasn't a particularly pretty place, reflective of the layer of fear and mistrust that coated the Dark Ages like oozing black pitch.

Or King Ingvar's personal preferences – he did go mad after all.

Jagged cracks speared the otherwise smooth gray stone beneath moth-nibbled tapestries, the ceiling sprang leaks at random, tending to startle the mice with unsuspected downpours, and a cold, skin-prickling draft was a constant menace, slithering through the dim, eerie corridors even in the warmest months. It was familiar though, and familiarity went a long way in creating the perception of comfort, so after the gates opened, she'd converted it into her private study, using her mother's only for receiving guests.

As a child the room had been a prison – a prison with a breath-snatching view of crystalline blue waters lapping up from the fjord and sunsets that set the distant peaks ablaze.

A fire inside the mountains.

When she first shut herself away, she'd liked nothing more than to pretend the achingly brilliant light was that of dragons, awakening from tales of old. She imagined they were wise and fierce, but cold and ruthless. They were the guardians of Middle Earth, or _Midgard,_ as her ancestors once called it, with their legends of nine realms that only existed in the minds of dreamers. For hours after, when the flames cooled to embers and the indigo sky shimmered, alight with silvery stars, Elsa would stay at the window, drawing and singing and writing stories of heroes and damsels and magic so unlike her own.

Her view of the sunrise, however, was always to be avoided. Every night before she'd crawled beneath the covers and buried her nose into the goose-down pillows, she drew the drapes. Drifting asleep to blackness and waking up to that same smothering blackness. At first, she tried to delay rising, forcing her eyes to shut, to surrender to meaningless sleep. But then the nightmares began; the monsters always returned to tear at her skin and chase her through the woods. Insomnia became an escape.

And so, in those early hours of the morning, she'd wander the halls of the forever empty West Wing aimlessly. Sometimes, conversing with the mice. For though they never had much to say, whether from lack of opinion or interest in her troubles, they were always kind enough to listen.

Or she'd retreat to the enclosed hearth in her chambers, as there was neither a fire nor speck of ash to ruin her frocks, and twist her pale tresses into elaborate braids. Or she'd pretend her mother and father were there, there to hold her and rock her and brush her hair lovingly from her face. Not afraid to touch their cursed child. Until finally – finally – the sun climbed high enough and she was safe for one more day.

Even when she was older, she'd use those times to spin round in court dances Mother insisted she learn, or read a book filched from Father's extensive collection, or practice piano or study for tests. Reviewing her extensive notes, pouring over history tomes and handbooks on court etiquette that she'd thought she'd never use.

It was only when she'd run away, whisked away to mountains in a flight of terror that she saw the sunrise again. Standing on the glassy balcony of her ice palace. For the first time in forever, she hadn't flinched away, hadn't turned her back. She'd watched the eastern sky flare and burn with rose and orange and coral, accented with strands of lilac from the retreating night and the gold of the advancing sun. And then suddenly she was ablaze. The light made her gown glow and sparkle with a million tongues of fire, like she was the flame.

The fire inside the mountains.

It had been silly really, the way she refused to watch the night fade and the day renew all those years, but she couldn't bear it. Seeing the threads of coming light, but not the sun. Those first few rays never touched the West Wing, never dissipated the cold that didn't bother her, but crushed all the same.

For thirteen years it had been her nightmare.

But now, in that old-bedroom-now-study, the pale light of a snow-coated dawn was creeping through her window and Elsa paid it little attention, the papers spilling across her desk showing her a brand-new nightmare. Brutal words spattered the pages, elegant cursive and crabbed hand alike blurring in her peripherals as she moved from one report to the next. Her eyes couldn't follow fast enough.

… _hell creatures… attacks on four and twenty villages in the Mo i Rana, Drammen, and Sogn-og-Fjordane provinces…no survivors…other villages in terror…6,000 deaths…need help…beg of you…send troops… starvation in Rjukan, Lillehammer, Halden, and Trondheim provinces…no pattern to this madness…help us!_

 _Help us!_

 _HELP US!_

The letters were filled with sickening details. Soldiers driven half-mad and babbling about monsters that fought with demonic grace and killed without mercy. Frozen corpses piled outside their homes with shredded abdomens and torn jugulars. Rivulets of blood flowing through the divots in the cobblestone streets like little scarlet streams, pooling in gutters. Emaciated peasants in the eastern and western provinces, waiting for the food that would never arrive from the murdered northerners. The artist renditions were the worse. She shuffled through them, all with one hand pressed over her mouth. Her breathing became increasingly shallow as the truth of it all sank in.

Her kingdom was falling apart – she laughed abruptly, a humorless, borderline hysterical laugh – Falling apart? _No, fool girl_. Her kingdom was being destroyed by the monsters of her long ago nightmares and every one of its citizens was looking to her for guidance. For hope.

Except she didn't have any. She had absolutely no idea what to do.

 _6,000 deaths._

Elsa hid her face, pressed it to her palms, stifling a dry sob. Ice suddenly shot across her desk, shattering a vase filled with fresh roses. She jumped, peeking through her fingers. Lips curling into a derisive scowl, she leveled a glare at the flowers. Delicate and perfect and the palest of pink with buttery centers; a gift from Lord Kristiansen's hot houses. Elsa decided she hated them. Her stomach churned at the thought that while the kingdom was literally starving, he – the Prime Minister – wasted precious gold on his flower gardens. It left a sour taste in her mouth. Frost encased the roses as she continued to stare, hands fisting, jaw clenching.

Roses were a silly romantic cliché she couldn't bear. She didn't even like them.

Throwing her hands down, Elsa pushed out from the desk, relishing in a grunt of her chair scuffing the already white-streaked hardwood. She roughly scrubbed her palms against her eyes, dragging her feet to the window. Seeing the ghostly reflection staring hollowly back at her, she frown. Bags bruised the skin beneath her blood-shot eyes, her already pale skin seeming bloodless in comparison. She brushed her fingers over her cheeks, pulling them down her profile.

"It was never supposed to be like this." She whispered to the phantom girl, who regarded her with a practiced coldness, all transparency and frosty edges. "Mother and Father were supposed to rule for years and years before I ever took the throne. They said they'd be here to help –" Elsa closed her eyes as tears swelled, catching on her long lashes like dew in a spider's gossamer.

Privately, once a week, she allowed herself a single moment weakness. She only gave herself a minute, a minute and not a quarter-second more. She counted them, letting them click down as the grandfather clock in the foyer did. Rotating the latch, she pushed the windows open, letting the icy breeze dance over her skin. Let herself wallow, flounder in self-pity. Let snow swirl around her feet, spiral up her arms. Coat her violet and cream day dress in an overlay of Chantilly lace.

And then her minute was up. She opened her eyes, blinked trice. Swiped a hand at the gathered wetness that had begun to crystallize on her skin. The wind stilled. The clock stopped tick tock ticking. The lace dissolved, leaving her grown unusually plain.

With a soft click, Elsa latched the window, mentally readied herself. _You are the queen._ She chanted. _You are proud. You are calm. You are poised. You are wise, elegant, clever, and perfect in everyway. That's what everyone believes. That's what you must pretend to be. It's your duty as the heir._

 _The heir…_

"Elsa? Oh Elsa?" A chipper singsong suddenly called from somewhere down the corridor. "Elsa, it's your birthday!"

Gasping, her concentration broken, Elsa jerked back from the window. The roses shattered, pink and yellow shards chiming discordantly as they skittered across her desk.

 _My…birthday? But…wait, what?_

She tugged open the top most drawer of her desk and snatched the tiny date book from the appropriate section of neatly filed ledgers. Rifled to the page marked with an emerald green ribbon embroidered with sloppy crocuses. Felt her breath falter, just slightly.

December 21. The winter solstice. Four days to Christmastide.

Her birthday.

Elsa's gaze floundered back to the window, reading the light. 7 o'clock exactly. She continued to stare, dumbfounded. She'd been three and twenty for seven hours and hadn't even known it.

"What are you doing in there? C'mon I got the whole day planned up to the ball and it's going to be amazing and –"

The ball. Her birthday ball. Had she known any of the words, Elsa would've sworn up a rainbow of color to rival any fisherman down at the docks, grumbling as they pulled up another load of bony fish. How could she have forgotten about that stupid, horrible mess of a supposed birthday gift? The ball was the culmination of Parliament's grand schemes to finally find their spinster queen a husband. All expenses paid for.

Well, except for the gowns.

The economy had already been precarious when she'd been coronated. And that coronation, that bright sparkling jewel of a day to show off her countries riches? That day ruined them, a consequence of ruling from the shadows and trusting that Parliament would take care of things. Their'taking care of things' was a combination of exorbitant spending and a boatload of debt owed to the Swedish kingdom of Vadstena, who even now, even knowing how badly they needed more time, demanded payment in full by years end.

And had the audacity to suggest a marriage alliance with their youngest son, Prince Jakob Thorvald IV, a pimply, scrawny boy of sixteen. Anna had laughed herself silly, until tears streamed down her cheeks, when they'd seen his portrait. Even Heidi Lura, her lady-in-waiting, had cracked a wry smile, muttering a suggestion undertone that would _not_ be repeated in front of polite company.

It hadn't taken long after for the economy to crash to the ground, helpless as a fallen horse who hadn't figured out yet that its legs were shattered, never to rise again. Not three and a half weeks after the Great Thaw, she'd discovered the decay, the rotted shambles of their money supply. More than half her court had demanded she abdicate, pinning their young, naïve child-queen with the crime of mismanaging finances. A witch _and_ a fool, just one more reason why women shouldn't be given positions of power. It made her ice cold with anger. But there was nothing she could do. Nothing except to infuse her spine with iron ore and become the ruler her father had trained her to be. Elsa owed her people nothing less.

At least, that's what she'd always been told. Born always to be in her citizens' debt.

So with the castle finances spread so precariously thin, the staff had reduced to a mere ten members, their three guards included, the girls had become resigned to patching frayed dresses, helping Gerda and Heidi on laundry day, and eating a steady diet of porridge and potatoes as winter set in. New gowns were out of the question, an unapproachable topic Anna had learned not to broach after the queen nearly froze what was left of the overgrown palace gardens. Elsa point blank refused to waste a single copper on something as silly and frivolous as silk under-things from China or cashmere wraps from the East Indies.

 _Of course you could always spin a few ice dresses out of thin air and have all the court ladies look down their perfect little noses at the both of you._ A snide voice offered unhelpfully. _What does it matter if you're the_ 'snow queen' _if you can't be bothered to keep up with the current fashion? I.e. not frozen fractals!_

She buried her head in her arms to muffle a long-suffering groan.

"Elsa? Come _on!"_ Anna whined. "There's so much to do and I have to show you this super fantastic surprise Gerda and I have been–"

"Just a minute!" Elsa cringed at the slightly panicked tone in her voice. The reports still covered her desk, screaming, begging, pleading. She couldn't let her sister see this; the state of Kingdom Arendelle. Nobody could see how bad it was, how desperate she was becoming. Economy was one thing. But their so-called allies in Vadstena and Tornio would practically salivate if they knew about…this.

A beat of silence, then…

"Are you okay? I know you're not that happy about the ball. I mean Parliament is _so_ boring sometimes, but I'm sure it'll be fun. Olaf will be there and they let you invite the town's people so obviously…"

A flick of her fingers and the shards gathered up, whisking out of sight. A sweep of her arms and the reports were swept in a haphazard stack. She yanked open the top most drawer, shoving the pile in and slamming it shut so hard the desk rattled.

She'd invited the townspeople because they were the only ones who didn't look at Elsa like there was something horribly wrong with her. Their eyes wouldn't bulge and ogle with undisguised fear. They loved her. To the townspeople she was nothing short of a miracle. An angel of mercy to the poorest of the poor. The voice of the people in Parliament, they said. If they knew the truth… Elsa shivered though she couldn't feel the cold seeping through air bubbles dotting the glass windows.

If they knew the truth they'd call for her head like they'd done in the French kingdom of Versailles one and twenty years before. What they called revolution, the rest of Europe christened blood sport.

"I'm coming in now! Get ready…"

Lubrication oil was an unnecessary expense, and so for two years the hinges hadn't been polished. Even so, Elsa winced as the door let out a grinding squeal and Anna burst through, laughing gaily, her strawberry blonde braids and rosy cheeks emphasizing the darkness of the room like bottled up sunshine. Even her dress, a blushing pink so different from her usual green, seemed to emanate an angelic glow.

And Elsa couldn't help but smile, just a little.

"Happy birthday to you!" Anna sang, bouncing giddily on her toes. "Happy birthday to you!" She bounded to Elsa's desk, sending the plates and teacups on her tray skittering. She balanced it precariously; a porcelain tray laden with tea and a small mound of tiny sugar dusted pastries that wafted up the most heavenly scent of cinnamon and lemon curd and peppermint. A wrapped package was tucked under her right arm. "Happy birthday to Queen-Elsa-Katarina-Hardrada-the-greatest-sister-anyone-could-ever-ask-for. Happy birthday to you!"

She sank into a wobbly curtsy, presenting her offerings, only to drop her package and nearly upending the tray in an effort to fetch it.

"Anna, be care –" Elsa lunged for the wildly teetering tea kettle, catching the handle just as a splash of boiling water sloshed over its sides. Suspended for a moment in air, the droplets fell at Anna's exposed hands...and hit, pattering off as ice crystals. Fluttering her fingers into a loose fist, Elsa cocked a single brow.

With a shameless giggle, Anna straightened. "Whoops! That could have ended badly. Thank you sister dearest. What would I ever do without you?"

"Trip down the stairs, fall off the roof, and ruin all your dresses with pig pie."

"Such a downer." The princess stuck out her lip in a mock pout. "Cheer up grumpy face, I brought you breakfast."

Elsa had always wanted to be as bright and confident as Anna, as bubbly as a babbling brook. She truly hated how her eyes always seemed to detect imperfection in whatever she saw. How her thoughts always seemed to tilt to the negative in any given situation.

But all she could think of as she stared at her vivacious younger sister and her presents was just how many families could be fed with the gold it took to purchase the sugar. Of the slaves who labored in the plantations to gather the sugar cane stalks, whipped and beaten under the scorching Caribbean sun.

Anna's grin flagged and redoubled, and then fell completely. She shifted between her feet, sending the tray into jiggles, her shoulders drooping.

"Don't you…don't you like it?"

"Oh…no! No no no! It's not that at all." Elsa mentally kicked herself and imagined her shins smarting. _Conceal it, fool._ She offered the ghost of an apologetic smile, setting the tray safely down on her desk, and wrapped her arms around her sister with a reassuring squeeze. "I'm so sorry Anna. This is wonderful. I love it. I…I just have other things on my mind right now."

Squeezing back, Anna sighed, pressing her nose into Elsa's shoulder. "It's not fair. You shouldn't be working on your birthday. It's almost Christmas!" She said, practically trembled with the purest form of joy.

"I know." Elsa bit her lip, pulling back to smooth her sister's mussed bangs and pat down the frizzles framing her brow and temples like an elaborate tiara. "But the kingdom doesn't come to a crashing halt just because of that. I just had to take care of some reports before the gates open for the party tonight." Steam billowed from the delicately painted teapot as she poured two cups of pungent peppermint tea. "I'm done now though." She amended when Anna frowned.

"Were they bad? Because your face says they were."

Elsa shrugged, adding a drizzle of honey and a splash of milk to the cups. "They could be better, but don't worry over it." She handed the cup with more honey to Anna, automatically cooling it so the redhead didn't burn her tongue when she immediately gulped it down. "It's fine."

 _Liar._

"It doesn't sound fine. Why don't you just tell me?"

 _Because you don't deserve this._

Elsa took a delicate sip of her tea, unable to meet her searching eyes. "I don't want to talk about this."

 _I'm trying to protect you._

"But I could help."

 _Stop being stubborn. Just let me handle this. I know what I'm doing. I'm…still lying._

"Thank you, but I don't need your help."

 _I won't let you get hurt again._

"But it'll be fun."

 _Listen to me!_

"Not everything is a game Anna!" Her tea sloshed over into its saucer as she slammed it down on the table. Spinning away, she dug her hands into hair, wishing it was loose instead of coiled prudishly at the nape of her neck. A sheen of ice glinted in the corner of her eye as her hair filled with ice crystals.

 _Now you've done it. What is_ wrong _with you?_

"Elsa?" She jumped as warm hand pressed into her shoulder and Anna appeared at her side. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have been so nosy." Sighing in frustration, Elsa turned slightly, forcing her mouth to form a weary smile.

"No, _I'm_ sorry. It's just," she gestured in a wild circle, "this whole birthday ball – Parliament – court – bad economy thing is giving me a headache without the reports on top of it all. And now you come in and give me a perfect birthday present and I loose it –"

" _Elsa_." Anna gave her a meaningful look. "I get it. You're stressed. That's why I planned out the day for us." She hammered her fist into her palm determinedly. "I promise that it'll be the _ep-pit-toam_ of un-stressfulness." Elsa touched her fingers to her lips to conceal a giggle.

"Thank you… but I think you mean epitome."

Anna's brow crinkled. "What?"

"Never mind." Guilty, Elsa bit into a lemon tartlet, tangy sweetness exploding on her tongue. "Mmm. Anna, this is delicious. A nice change from porridge every morning."

"I know. Aren't they amazing?" Her sister munched happily on a cinnamon bun. "I found them when I went down to visit with Frida and Anders this morning. Mrs. Himmler delivered them from Lord Kristiansen's estate earlier this morning and she insisted that we share them. But don't worry. I left some for Kristoff and Heidi. I hope she likes strawberry jam."

Elsa nearly choked on her second lemon tart and had to take a gulp of her tea to dislodge the stuck piece. _Oh no…_ "These are from Lord Kristiansen?"

Staring at her perplexedly, Anna nodded. "Unfortunately. Mrs. Himmler said he uh…" She stuffed the rest of the sweet into her mouth and ticked off her fingers. "He sends his regards, wishes you a happy birthday, says he wants to speak to you about…something. I forgot. And he looks forward to dancing with you at the ball tonight. Sorry, I know I shouldn't talk with my mouth full." she added when Elsa grimaced.

Elsa waved off her off and fell back into her chair, slumping. Listing her head, not unlike a spaniel, her sister perched on its arm.

"What's wrong?"

"He sent roses yesterday." She mumbled, glancing miserably up at a ceiling that was smothered with cobwebs.

"He did? Where? Does he like you? Oh please don't tell me he likes you. When did this start?!" Anna demanded, shoulders rolling up as though she was bristling.

"They…" It was impossible to keep up with the stream of questions, so she settled on the easiest. "Five weeks ago. And now the tarts…besides that he's paying for the ball."

"Wait, what?"

"Anna, do you really think we could afford something like that?" Elsa said briskly. "I already told you about the dresses."

"Actually, about that –"

"I think he's going to propose tonight." She blurted it out in a rush and let the words hang ominously. Like before, a thin layer of frost appeared on the patched cream sleeves of her day dress.

For once, Anna was stunned speechless, her mouth dropping soundlessly. Elsa drooped even more, resting her head on her sister's knee.

"But…he's so _old_!" Anna exclaimed, jumping up. "Sorry!" She gasped when Elsa smacked her head on the hard arm of the chair and scowled at her. "But he's… he can't propose to you. He's practically ancient."

"It could just be me overthinking it." An eleven year age difference? Please. To complain about such an infinitesimal gap would have seemed snobbish. She'd heard of worse alliances. Princess Loviisa of Tornio had recently married one of Versailles's princes, a spry man of seven and fifty, hadn't she? And just a year ago the king and queen of Castile-Leon had bartered their youngest daughter off to the highest bidder, some withered old arch-duke of Vienna who'd been so stricken with cholera that he died beside his beloved, a smear of frosting from their wedding cake on his cheek. Married and widowed on the same day, whether a tragedy or a relief, it would have been impolite to ask.

And yet, whenever she contemplated it, marriage to Lord Kristiansen and all it would entail, Elsa couldn't help the prickly gooseflesh that spread over her skin and the poignant taste of disgust from settling on her tongue. "And he isn't ancient. He's four and thirty."

"Which is exactly my point. Stop being nice and defending him. He doesn't deserve it." Anna marched over to the hearth and began stacking dried out logs to make a fire. "It's freezing in here," she muttered under her breath.

"I have the matches in my desk," said Elsa, sitting up a little to open another drawer containing useful things like charcoal pencils, ink bottles, quills, _Sense and Sensibility,_ and of course matches. She removed one from the box and handed it to Anna when she stomped over, then resumed her slumping. A crack and a hiss announced the hearth's lighting.

"Besides he's boring and stiff and boring and he's as thin as a rod and he's boring, and I mean he's kinda handsome if you like that sort of thing, but he's so, so bloody boring –"

"Anna, please don't use English curses. They sound ridiculous. If you must, do it in Norwegian. I'm sure you know them."

"He bosses everyone around and he prances about like he owns the place and he's boring and he has the stupidest, idiotic smile and all he talks about is himself!" Anna paused in her tirade only to suck in a much-needed breath. "And did I mention that he's the most boring man on the face of the earth?!"

"Not in so many words but –"

"You can't marry him Elsa! I won't let you!" Cheeks flushed with indignation, hands fisted to her hips, Anna looked ready to march to Lord Kristiansen's estate and do something regrettable to the esteemed prime minister. Elsa bit the inside of her cheeks to keep from smiling, though her next thought stole the urge.

If Bernard Kristiansen offered to use his wealth to save the kingdom, save her people, how could possibly refuse him? Never mind that, if any of their guests offered, even the child-prince Jakob, then how...

She shuddered.

"Of course I'm not going marry him. Don't be ridiculous." Her laugh sounded forced to her ears. All the same Anna brightened, nodding affirmably as if the issue had concluded when it had only just begun.

"Good. Because you definitely don't love him and that's all I ask of whoever you marry. And that he loves you more than anything in the world. Oh, and that he's not boring. Otherwise marry whoever you wish, be him stable hand, vagabond, or pirate. Actually," she tapped her chin thoughtfully. "I'd be totally on board if you married a pirate. Do you have any idea how much fun that would be?"

"No, and I don't particularly want to contemplate it." Her fingers ran over her desk, stopping when they came to the small package Anna had left on her desk. "Is this for me?"

"Oh my goodness yes! Open it!" Anna squealed, jumping and flapping her arms, looking very much like a flightless bird. "You are going to love it!"

" _Alright._ Calm down before you knock something over."

"Yes. Right. Calming. I'm the essence of calm. The definition of tranquility." Softly, Anna became to chant under her breath, closing her eyes and sinking to the carpet with her hands pressed demurely to her thighs.

Elsa smiled and undid the wide scarlet ribbon. She slid her nails beneath the edge of the wrapping, un-sticking the paste. The tissue fell away, revealing a thick book bound in cobalt blue leather and engraved with the gold lettering: _Pride and Prejudice by a Lady._ Eyes widening, Elsa peeked inside the cover and found a silken bookmark, creamy white and embroidered with brilliant red poppies. Her heart twinged.

"Oh Anna… thank you. I love her books and this," she gestured at the bookmark. "This is exquisite. Poppies are my favorite. Did you make this?" Her sister beamed.

"Yes!" She clasped her hands in delight. "I've been practicing with Gerda and it took forever, but I finished it a week ago which is good because –"

Abruptly she cut off, a mischief curling her lips. Without warning she sprang up and rushed forward, grabbed Elsa's hands and pulled her out of her chair, dragging her to the door. Elsa protested as she tripped over her feet.

"Where are we going?" Always two steps ahead, Anna threw back her head and laughed, tugging her along behind her.

"There's no time to explain. Come on slowpoke, we'll be late!"

The snug lacings of her corset stole her breath as she pattered into the hall and nodded to startled posse of eavesdropping mice. "Whatever for?"

"The royal fitting of course!"

"What?"

* * *

"Can she take off the blindfold now?"

"Shush Olaf, not yet."

"Oh Lady, you're going to love it."

Had she been able to see where she was going, Elsa thought she might like it a great deal more. The coarse fabric of the rag Anna had promptly tied over her eyes when they reached the palace washroom scratched at her cheeks whenever she moved her head. No matter what she did, she couldn't stop the incessant itch from crawling over her skin. Trying to ignore it, she squeezed her eyes shut, scrunching her face in concentration, picking out the exact points of warmth and chill of the washroom maze.

Sometimes it amazed her, the speed at which her powers grew. Just last month they'd branched into the finer points of temperature control, allowing her to sense subtle changes, the colder points, in a rough radius of eighty or so paces, and by default the warmest. It almost painted a picture…no, not a picture… a sensory mind map. She rather liked how that sounded; a sensory mind map of which she was the compass rose, the focal point. Because she never failed to be the coldest point on her map, contrasting so sharply with Anna's warmth, today rivaling that of the flickering candles adorning the sconces lining the walls and the fires roaring under the washroom basins. In fact, if she hadn't known better…

"Fo-o-o-l-l-low. Th-h-he. So-o-u-nd. O-o-of. M-y-y. Vo-o-o-i-ice." Distracted by a nameless worry, Elsa took a tentative step towards her sister's obnoxious call and succeeded only in stubbing her slippered toe.

"Is this really necessary?" She grimaced, hopping a few steps to avoid her smarting foot and yelping as the tinny clang of clattering metal objects showered about her feet. Elsa skittered back, stumbling when her ankles caught on a protruding…something or other. Arms flailing in circles like a Hollander windmill, she tripped into a billowing expanse of a bed sheet and with an unladylike oomph, falling into a rumpled pile of old blankets.

"Ow!" Elsa shifted so that the sheet wafted down over her head and torso, discreetly trying to rub her sore bottom. "Anna Sofia –"

"Sorry!"

"This way Elsa." A slender twig pressed into her palm. Sighing, Elsa grasped Olaf's hand and let him pull her up, as always amazed by his disproportionate strength. Gingerly stepping away from the ensnaring blankets, she let him guide her forward until Anna and Gerda grasped her arms and pulled her the rest of the way.

"Are you ready?" Hands clapped her shoulders, soft through the thin material of her day dress. Soft and…warm. Was Anna always that warm? A pinprick of worry prickled in Elsa's chest.

She'd heard of an illness brewing in the poorer sectors of the cities, wafting across the countryside. Just another number on her growing list of problems… just another number snatching up peasants like the angel of death over Egypt. But they were safe behind the castle walls, right? Sickness couldn't penetrate stone, delve and drill into the sheer solidity of it.

Could it?

"Is she ready?" Olaf asked.

" _Elsa._ "

"Right, yes. I'm ready."

No. Of course not. If anyone was a risk of getting sick, it was her. The one who spent her days congealed to that old office chair, growing thin and sallow, tormented by faceless demons. Not Anna, who's cheeks had always been flushed with the healthy pinkness of exertion, and nowadays the rosy glow of a woman just-married.

"Okay…SURPRISE!"

The rag fell away from her eyes and Elsa blinked around the sunbeams cast through the windows. But when she could finally see, her mouth parted, her eyes widened to the rough estimate size of saucers. Or perhaps, more accurately, salad plates.

Stranded in a sea of wispy sheets and crisscrossed clothing lines, Elsa stood face to face with two manikins displaying the most stunning ball gowns she'd ever seen.

The first was the color of champagne that threw off hints of gold and the palest of peach when it caught the sun just so. Its sweetheart neckline tapered into a high waistline that flared into a skirt full and sweeping with delicate layers of chiffon and tulle. Its capped sleeves tapered to just above the elbow, as in keeping with the current fashion. All innocence and girlish charm.

The second was about as alike to its companion as a snowflake was to a rose.

Elsa ventured closer, hardly daring to touch it. Ran her fingertips across the downy silk, but hardly able to imagine herself wearing such a thing.

It was a deep silken crimson, for one. The color of wine offered from Italia's finest vineyards. It shared the same neckline as the first – though this one's was noticeably lower – as well as its full skirt and tight bodice, but that was where the similarities ended.

Like her old ice dress, a long train fluttered down from its underarms and would trail several feet behind her when she walked. Its low sleeves dipped down to bear the manikin's white terrycloth shoulders and puffed up over the forearms before tapering to its fingers. Embroidered generously with silver and embellished with tiny garnets and seed pearls. The skirt draped and pooled around the base, betraying the yards upon yards of silk it had taken to construct, its hem sharing the same intricate embroidery and semi-precious gems as the sleeves and bodice. It was breathtaking, _no_ , radiant. A sewn-up version of perfection.

The first ball gown was beautiful, but the second? Oh, oh! The second was risqué and mystique. Intrigue and seduction. It was everything she dreamed of and yet everything she feared. In the first, she would exude the essence and propriety of a queen, but in the second…

In the second dress she would look like a woman.

"Why isn't she saying anything?" Too-loudly, Olaf whispered, like an actor on stage needing the audience sitting prim and proper in the balconies to hear his soliloquy. "Do you think she likes them?"

"Shh dearie, give the child a moment to take it all in." Gerda hushed him with a gentle pat on his twiggy scalp. He nuzzled into her hand like a cat.

"I…" Her voice faltered, composure failing, as Elsa turned back to the trio. "I don't know what to say."

"I knew it!" The snowman exclaimed as he stroked his imaginary snow-beard. "Perhaps when we surprise her, her powers go all fizzy and snow gets in her throat and freezes over her larynx so she can't talk." He snorted out a giggle, looking up just in time to catch the women exchanging baffled glances. "What?"

"Right…so the shoes!" Reaching behind her, Anna squealed as she held up the matching dancing slippers, darling little silk creations with trailing ribbons. "Aren't they just the cutest things ever?"

"Yes, but – How in the world – " Elsa stammered, thoughts reeling and whirling like clockwork.

"Just say you love them and you love me because I'm the best sister who's ever walked the face of the earth." Braids flapping as she bounced on her toes, Anna beamed a grin bright enough to rival sunlight.

"I – I do. And you are. But how –?"

"We went through Mama's old gowns. See? Da dum!" Whistling a buoyant fanfare, she flicked her hand towards a pile of discarded dresses draped over an old wash basin. "It took a while to remake them, like I thought my hands were going to fall off, but –" Those hands, baring teensy nicks and pricks that attested to the tireless effort, bunched up and danced around her face as she gushed. "We got them done for the ball and they're perfect and I love them and you have to wear the red one!"

Elsa stared at her, slightly dumbfounded, but deeply touched. She longed to wear the red gown, longed to become the ethereal vision her mind had created. But Anna would look just lovely. More beautiful, as she was supposed to be, having captured the very stars in her shining eyes and infectious smile. "Are you sure?"

"Of course I'm sure!" Anna exclaimed, hands now swooping ceiling-ward in exasperation. "You're wearing it. No exceptions. We made it specifically for you and you're going to look so beautiful and everyone is going to love you so that's that." Arms knotting across her chest, she narrowed her eyes, daring Elsa to argue.

"I…" She closed her mouth as her bottom lip started to tremble, kneading her palm into her cheek. How had she ever come to deserve them? "I…" And then, without warning, as if her speechlessness hadn't been embarrassing enough, she promptly burst into tears.

Anna gasped, clapping both palms over her mouth, eyes round. "Oh! No, don't cry! Please don't cry. I didn't mean it. Honest. You can wear the other one if you really want to!"

"Happy birthday Lady!" Gerda gathered the young queen to her ample bosom in a spine-popping embrace.

"Thank you. Thank you so much." Whispering tightly, Elsa closed her eyes for a moment, relishing in the affection. Since their parent's passing, Gerda had self-appointed herself and Kai as surrogate parents to the girls. Elsa had forgotten how much she craved the motherly touch. She'd taken them for granted as a young girl, when she patiently endured Mama's fussing and sat quietly as she brushed and braided her hair. Before she'd pushed her away, terrified of hurting those she loved and hurting them anyway. But now, she'd have traded what little savings sat collecting dust in the palace safe to have it back. She would've traded the whole world to know the love she'd seen between her parents, and now between her steward and his faithful wife.

"It does this old heart a great deal of good to see this day." The matronly woman sniffled. Slowly, Gerda's robust arms unwound from her slight frame. "You look so much like your mother when she was your age. You have her eyes Lady, those beautiful blue eyes. I see her every time I look at you, her strength and her beauty and her kindness." The older woman cupped Elsa's cheeks and leaned down to place a kiss lovingly on her brow. Tears glimmered in her grey-blue eyes, tears that streamed from Elsa's.

"Oh dear." A soft, watery laugh escaped her lips and she pressed her fingertips to her mouth, running the other hand under her eyes. "I'm an emotional mess today. It's all just too much. How can I ever repay you?"

"Nonsense." Gerda clucked reprovingly, using the edge of her apron to swipe the last remnants of kohl smudges and sticky saline from her charge's cheeks. "It's about time we did something to show how much we appreciate all you do for us. Honestly, the queen herself and her sister _not_ have ball gowns for their own party? I won't have it." She shook her head adamantly. "Heidi and I've finished going through Missy's old things. The two of you will have brand new wardrobes in a month's time if I have any say about it."

"You really don't have to do –" The instinctual response only hiccupped past her lips when Anna jabbed her elbow sharply into Elsa's ribs.

"Shush."

"Once I find the girl, that is." Gerda continued, not seeming to hear – or see, Elsa thought wryly, massaging her side – anything anyway. "Up and disappeared nigh this morning. Haven't seen her since. I assure you she'll be getting a stern talking to when she returns."

The color drained from her cheeks and her fears rushed back, no longer kept at bay from her excitement.

Olaf tugged at her skirts.

She brushed him off. "Oh, that won't be necessary Gerda. I gave her the morning off." Sharing a brief glance with Anna, who looked just as baffled as she felt, she added. "She'll be busy this evening, what with the ball and everything, and she's been working so hard these last couple of weeks."

It bothered her, how easily the lie fell from her tongue, how easily Gerda shrugged, not even questioning her. Did her being the queen, the heir, nullify all doubts of her honesty?

"Oh, of course, Lady. I should have thought of that."

"Elsa, I think –"

"Just a moment Olaf. Yes, she went…out. I'm sure she'll be back by lunch." Attempting a smile that made her cheeks twitch alarmingly, she gritted her teeth. "Right Anna?"

"Wha –er, yes. Right! I remember now. Sorry, must've slipped my mind." Elsa resisted the urge to hide her face in her hands when Anna's half-truths, usually so smooth, came out squeaky. "Yeah, she went to visit her um, aunt. Yep, her aunt." She giggled nervously. "That's the one."

"Aunt? Why, I didn't know she had family in the capital. She should have said something. It'd be so nice to meet her. Must be a sprightly woman to raise such a spirited girl. Reminds me of a wild mare when she gets going." Gerda mused curiously, fingering the wash pins holding up the laundry. Her small round eyes widening with the anticipation of new gossip.

"Yep, her Aunt Lisabet – uh Betsy." Clasping her hands and rocking on her toes, Anna chirped brightly, twittering like a blue jay and ignoring Elsa's frantic hand gestures to shush. Unconsciously, she reached out with her powers, tentatively feeling at the waves of warmth unfurling from the princess. "She has a bad case of…gout. Terrible really. Her feet are the size of…of, well you know. Heidi was really worried about her, so of course we let her go."

"Elsa."

"Not now Olaf." She muttered absent-mindedly as her mind barreled a hundred miles a minute. Heidi frequently left the palace, usually on odd errands for Gerda and Frida, jaunts to the marketplace for a sack of potatoes. Or a bottle of perfume, scented hair oil, a spare book or new hair comb mayhap when their allowance allowed it; she was especially good at fetching presents for birthdays and Christmastide, slipping in and out of the gates like a thief in the night.

But never without a word of notice.

Where in the world could she have gone? Now, more than ever, she needed her friend's guidance on what lay ahead. She was – how should she say it? – more sensible than Anna. More level-headed. She might know what to do about Lord Kristiansen. Elsa was sure she would.

"Oh the poor darling!" Gerda paused in unclipping the swaths of sheets hanging from the lines. "What a sweet girl to take care of her. My grandmother had it in her hands. They would swell like rising bread in the winter months."

"Ouch!" Something pointy and sharp dug into her thigh. Elsa looked down, startled to find Olaf's wide eyes blinked furiously up at her. "What do you want?"

"There's this guard waiting for you in the hall." His brittle arm rattled as he shook it at a wiry, middle-aged man standing partially concealed in the shadows, rigid in the door way. He kept his head lowered and she couldn't make out his features. Elsa jumped, uneasy at the sight of an eye patch capped over the left side of his face. He was new, she decided, not remembering seeing him before, but thinking he looked oddly familiar. It bothered her, a niggling memory in the back of her mind that she just couldn't place.

"I think it's important." Olaf bubbled on. "He didn't go away when I told him to. And he looked at me kinda funny when I asked him if he was a pirate. I think he needs a hug. That should clear things up."

Elsa felt what brief happiness Anna and Gerda's surprise had brought drain away and she resisted the urge to slump her shoulders. She should have known it wouldn't last. Hadn't she told Anna herself that the world didn't crash to a screeching halt just because it was her birthday? She was the _heir_. The world never stopped for her.

"Yes, of course. Tell him I'll be along in a moment." Nervously, she stole another peek at the man's stony expression and set jaw. "And please Olaf, don't try to hug him. I don't think he'll appreciate it very much."

"Don't be silly. Everybody needs hugs. The more the merrier." He insisted, toddling off before Elsa could get in another word of edgewise. Closing her eyes to stave off a mounting headache, she sighed, rolled her shoulders back, and tapped Anna lightly on her back.

Skirts swishing around her boots, she swiveled, her smile dimming like a snuffed out candle at Elsa's drawn together brows. "What is it?"

"I have to go." She said, nodding in the guard's direction.

"But we just got here."

"Well, someone needs to speak with me. I think it's urgent. You understand, don't you?" Lacing her fingers through her sister's, she gave a gentle squeeze. Anna sigh, resigned.

"I _suppose_ so. It can't wait, can it?"

"I'm afraid not." She pulled away, surreptitiously brushing Anna's glossy apple cheek with her fingers. They were… warm. But Anna's blood was surely rushing with her elation. Surely that was all. "Don't worry, I'll try not to take too long and I promise we'll talk before the ball tonight."

"Count on it."

"Now off you go Lady." A towering pile of neatly folded sheets rose from Gerda's basket and wobbled as she shooed her away.

Squaring her shoulders and drawing a deep breath of trepidation, Elsa hurried to the hall, trying to ignore the selfish wish that for once, just once, that it was Anna who was being hustled through life in a whirlwind of private alliances and back-biting. That it was Anna who wore Mother's blue-gemmed diadem and that Elsa had been the one born second.

The overlooked, but utterly free, spare princess.

* * *

 **A/N: Yay the revised chapter *cheers* Sorry for any confusion. They'll be more updates and clarifications in Ch.4's author's note. From the original note of this chapter thank you** **Coco and Espiritu Invictus for reviewing.  
**


	3. Chapter 2: Taken

He remembers a time before.

Seconds ago, eons ago,

Upon his father's brow, a diadem,

In his shaking hand, a quill

Before –

 _His body. Twisting, stretching, growing._

 _Then the pain. Drilling into his bones, splitting his skull._

 _Screaming, but his lungs crumple._

 _Darkness._

 _Eternal cold._

 _Hunger next._

 _Never enough to fill_

 _The gapping chasm of his stomach._

He wanted to die.

To sleep, never waken.

But that choice had been stripped, torn away.

He remembers a time before,

Moments ago, centuries ago

Running wild, chasing the wind

Jumping, laughing, whooping

Before –

 _His body, lumbering._

 _White, heavy, silent_

 _As he shuffles through snow with paws;_

 _Death in a swipe._

Always he moves towards the cold,

Never ceasing, he searches

For a vision.

But his dreams have been mangled, broken away.

He remembers, he forgets

Memories stolen and buried.

Lost.

His morning keen is fearsome to behold.

Lost, he must wander and roam,

Searching until he finds the one.

Her.

Hoarfrost gossips,

Icicles tug his fur,

Winds whisper in his ear.

Dazed he stumbles, grunts.

Black eyes flickering,

With an emotion not seen in decades.

He lifts his shaggy head,

Pointing his nose south,

Massive chest aching with desire.

But,

Not hope.

Never hope.

Long ago

His hope was snatched, destroyed,

Taken.

 **A/N: I'm back early! *Cheers* Though I don't suppose this really counts as a true chapter. This is obviously from the Isbjørn's (I'm pretty sure it means white bear, but don't quote me on it) POV. I got the idea of poetry from Edith Pattou's East. I'm certainly no Robert Frost, but I like it. It was either that or stream of consciousness…I spared you. Review if you like it. Thanks a billion Enchiladas and Jacob Flores. Saffy Pen over and out (Roger that Houston… sorry, I'm a dork ;P).**


	4. Chapter 3: Phantoms Arising

**Disclaimer: I don't own Frozen  
**

 **A/N: Friends, I must beg your forgiveness. My absence was uncalled for. The next couple chapters will come much much faster then this one, I promise you. They're mostly written since they were originally supposed to be one big chapters, but it got much too long. Incidentally, I've added to Ch.2 A Tale of Two Sisters. It leaves off where this chapter starts. Thanks so much to Enchiladas, 4ever. .friend, and Jacob Flores for reviewing.  
**

 **Special thanks to my super fantastic beta-reader Rachgraceh. She's done such a great job and has helped me so much!  
**

 **Hope you enjoy and kindly review. I shall post again soon friends! Saffy Pen over and out.**

* * *

Elsa resisted the urge to fiddle with her sleeves as she left the washroom, a nervous habit that had persisted from girlhood, when she'd worn those itchy gloves her father, and then she herself, had insisted upon. As much as she'd despised them, they had been her one, almost successful safeguard against the snow and cold. She was forever yanking those gloves as far up as the material would stretch, always tugging her sleeves past her wrists until Mother commented on how frayed and stretched the hems were. She'd been more careful after that.

So instead, she slid her palm over the stray wisps of hair that had escaped her simple knot during the fiasco with the drapery – traitorous linens – and ignored the infectious giggles spurting behind her. She must remain as stoic and unperturbed as a statue. She _was_ a statue; a frozen statue made of ice and snow.

 _I am the epitome of peace and serenity._

The guard stood strategically in front of a bright window so that while she could still make out his profile, noting the gnarled line of his nose and wondering how many times it had been broken, the backlighting concealed the details of his face. Seeing her approach, the guard stiffened, then instantly bent respectfully at the waist, bowing deeply as Elsa swept into the hall. She pursed her lips, uneasy. But then, as Anna loved to remind her, she was always uneasy. Emotions always spurting and twitching like a nervous white rabbit, concealed only by a serene smile.

 _I am a vision of tranquility and calm._

"Your Majesty," the guard murmured softly, his voice as rough and craggy as a wave-battered shoreline. He turned away as though purposely refusing to show his face. Elsa kept her eyebrows in check as they threatened to rise, schooling her features from mild surprise to grim neutrality. One couldn't allow a slip of unnecessary emotion when dealing with the prowling army types; for she was sure that's where she'd recognize him from.

Months ago, she'd held a meeting with her top generals. They'd accomplished what was needed, and while Elsa was confident her army could win a war with the Finnish kingdom of Tornio, should they decide to start nipping at their heels, she'd also thought General Ludvik had been more concerned with his attempted flirtations with Heidi than answering Elsa's burning questions. Only attempted because Heidi had expertly ignored him like he was no more than a bothersome fly; a mild annoyance far beneath her notice. Elsa had been impressed and just a tad bit jealous of how utterly impassive and emotionless her lady-in-waiting could be. Her own façade still had one to many cracks that she'd yet to figure out how to smooth over. Heidi's, however, was as flawless as her snow-drop skin. General Ludvik had been more than a little irritated by the time their meeting was over. Perhaps this man had been part of their entourage? Is that why he wouldn't show his face?

"Shall we continue, ma'am?"

"Pardon me sir, but I have no idea who you are." She countered calmly. "Kindly state your name and purpose here in the capital." She stopped short of ordering him to show his face. Surely Grigori and Willem, her guards, wouldn't have granted him entry had they thought him a threat.

Though as if reading her mind, or maybe hoping to assuage her worries, the man looked up slowly, hesitantly.

Inch by inch.

 _Oh. God._

Elsa couldn't keep a strangled gasp from escaping her lips, her jaw dropping and her eyes widening with horror. So much for a statue of ice. That veneer instantly shattered into millions of ice shards.

His face was… hideous. A child's drawing, all distorted lines and jagged outlines.

The skin stretched across his sunken cheeks formed a macabre pattern of raised scar tissue, puckered and white. His lone eye was flinty grey, the color of ash, yet it too was ruined by the most prominent scar on his face that sliced through his eyebrow and tunneled into his sharp, jutting cheekbone.

The black, leather eye patch became a blessing. Elsa could only imagine what lay behind it: a gaping red hole where his other eye should have been?

Burns had paralyzed the muscles around his mouth. The left side sagged lower than the right.

His left ear was no more than a nub of stumpy flesh.

Clapping one hand over her gapping mouth, Elsa spun away, pressing the other to her stomach in an effort to assuage her roiling belly. Bile burned her larynx as it swelled up her throat.

What in the world had happened to him?!

"Forgive me." She squeaked, as soon as she could breathe again. "I meant no offense. You just – I'm so sorry."

"None taken ma'am. 'Twas an insult to your maidenly sensibilities." He replied in that soft, unassuming voice.

Elsa blinked.

Her maidenly what?

"I've endured far worse. You at least were polite not to ask. 'Fraid I wouldn't tell you even if you had though. 'Tisn't a story for a fine lady like yourself."

Mortified, Elsa slowly turned, her cheeks blazed crimson. She was relieved to find that he too had turned away again. "No. My reaction was uncalled for. You…well," she reached for her sleeves, twisting the fabric between her fingers. "You can't help how you look no more than I can my magic. It was ill-"

"Please ma'am, it's alright," he murmured. "But you are most kind."

Desperate to leave the subject Elsa squared her shoulders and reminded herself that she was the queen, the heir. "I don't believe – that is – what is your name, sir?"

"Fretheim. Colonel Fretheim, Your Majesty." He supplied, gesturing with a deft wave of his hand that she should precede.

Elsa remained rooted in her tracks.

"Colonel?" She echoed. Foolishly, she'd thought him a lieutenant. Just a low-ranking official seeking an audience with his monarch.

 _Fool._

What could the army possibly want with her now? Had Tornio finally declared war? Or was Vadstena starting to make trouble –? She'd been hedging her bets that they'd start troublemaking after she declined Prince Jakob's hand in marriage. What good was starting now? Unless…what if they planned to start a war, then use a ceasefire as a bargaining chip?!

"Easy now ma'am." Sir Fretheim said as though placating a spooked mare. "It's just a title. I was given an honorable discharge last spring." He flicked his hand towards the adjourning hall. "Shall we?"

"I –" She was tempted to riddle him with questions, demand an explanation for his sudden appearance. He should have requested an audience with her. And where is the world was Kai? He supposed to regulate these sorts of things. Was all her staff missing? Spirited off to the mountains doing only God knows what?

But all that slipped out was a lame, pitiful mutter. "Er, yes. Thank you."

The colonel fell into line, a respectful four paces behind her, as they started down the East Wing corridor. Elsa was secretly grateful, sure she'd have been tempted to stare at his ruined face had they'd been abreast. Fretheim…

Only the wall ahead, bearing a portrait of some stern-faced ancestor, saw her frown. She was certain she'd heard it before. By that old family name she guessed he had some noble blood. Perhaps the second or third son of a baron, gone off to the army while his brother inherited the land?

A baronet?

"I beg your pardon for disturbing you ma'am."

Elsa blinked, pulled from her musings. "Not at all. I was just finishing up. What is it that you need me for?" Though praying had never come easily to her – it was hard for her to believe that God would listen to a witch – a rapid chant sped through her sub-conscious, a plea that some new unspeakable horror wasn't rearing its ugly head.

"Minister Vinter wishes to speak with you ma'am." Sir Fretheim reported as though to a commanding officer in their army. "He didn't say why, but I suspect it to be related to your birthday ma'am. Please allow me to give you my congratulations."

"Oh –" The single word rushed out in an exhale of relief. Thank God. "Uh – yes, thank you."

"Of course ma'am." Elsa pursed her lips and glided around the corner to the servant's stairwell, the repertoire beginning to grind on her nerves like the rusty gears of an old grandfather clock.

Yes ma'am. No ma'am. Whatever you need ma'am. How may I be of service to you ma'am? Ma'am?

She mimicked to herself, boots tip-tap-echoing as she climbed the circling stone steps. She pinched her amethyst skirts up to her ankles, suddenly feeling incredibly old. Like a prudish, dried-up old spinster.

In the last few months she'd finally gotten used to the forever My Queen's, Your Majesty's, and the much despised Your Eminence's. At the time she'd convinced herself that she'd much prefer a simple ma'am. Lots of people were called ma'am. Governesses, merchant's wives, housekeepers. It wasn't so special. It didn't make her feel like everyone expected the world from her. Well, she'd gotten what she'd wished for in any case.

Sir Fretheim swept smoothly passed her as she mounted the last step, head ducked to his sternum, already holding the door ajar by the time she raised her gaze. Offhandedly she wondered if he had a constant crick in his neck, having to hold his head so as often as he did. But if he did, he didn't show it, impassive as ever as he offered her his gloved hand. Were his hands scarred too? After a moment of trepidation, Elsa took it and allowed him to lead her into the adjourning hall where dropped it immediately and resumed his shadowing.

"Are you new to the city, Sir Fretheim?" She asked, addressing the carpet, grimacing when she noticed a ragged hole in the weaving, right where the reindeer's... er, back end would be. Elsa repressed another sigh. Best to keep their guests confined to the ballroom tonight.

"No ma'am. I spent my childhood here and several years during my training. My mother worked in the palace as a chamber maid. I'd help her when I wasn't in school. She always insisted I go." After a short pause, he added. "I knew your father. We were boyhood friends."

A fleeting memory, spun hastily together in a child's young mind, flittered by and Elsa gasped, halting in her tracks.

The pieces clicked together like clockmaker winding the gears of his machine.

It'd been late spring of 1800, the final year of that terrible war with Tornio. She'd been eight and it'd been just weeks before the accident that changed her life and sealed her fate for thirteen years.

* * *

 _Stifling a giggle as she shimmied up the weeping willow tree, Elsa tucked her skinny legs around a precariously thin branch and wrapped her arms around the trunk. Wearing a pretty jade frock, she was perfectly concealed by the draping curtain of pale green fronds. Anna would never find her here. It was the very best hiding spot, and despite the scratches that threatened to bleed and the tears in the lacy hem of her skirt, Elsa was practically vibrating with supressed glee._

 _But as minutes ticked by, trickled into one hour, one and a half, she began to grow bored. Anna hadn't even come looking in this part of the garden._

 _Well... Elsa bit her lip guiltily. She technically wasn't allowed on this_ _side of the garden until she was older, as it opened up to a private cove tucked some ways in from the fjord, and Anna didn't know how to swim yet. Elsa hadn't thought that would keep her away. She was always trying to sneak through the rose arbor hedge, often with mixed, rather bloody results._

 _Sighing as the minutes lumbered by as slowly as a groggy white bear, Elsa fiddled with her white blonde locks. Her hair was especially elegant today; a thick Dutch braid acted as a headband to keep the loose sausage ringlets loosely back and bounces about her shoulders. Missy Gerda had said something about visitors when she'd used the dreaded hot irons to fix Elsa's hair, but as visitors never seemed to pay much interest to the two youngest royals, Elsa and Anna had run off to the gardens as quickly as possible._

 _Now, plucking a twig from the braid and worriedly playing with a run in the skirt's silk skirt, Elsa wondered if she'd been a tad too hasty. She looked a horrid mess. What would Mama say?_

 _Just as she thought to climb down and search for her sister, a snap of a stray branch and a skittering of pebbles found her scrunching tighter into her roost._

 _Finally._

 _But the accompanying voice was not her sister's sweet chirps, but instead a deep, familiar baritone._

 _Papa…_

 _And he wasn't alone either. Elsa could just make out her father, handsome in his army regalia, beside a thin, wiry man wearing old leathers and a cowl drawn low over his face. A trickle of unease pinged and panged as it fell against her rib cage._

 _" –_ _wish you'd take that infernal hood off." Papa was saying, exasperation in every syllable and footfall. "I want to see my old friend, not some faceless war hero. It can't be all that bad."_

 _"Your housekeeper disagreed." The low, craggy voice growl that rose up from the hooded man sent shivers up Elsa's arms. "Barely kept herself from screaming her head off. I'd rather not have the same response from your wife and daughters."_

 _"I'm not asking you to show them. I'm asking you to show me, your friend."_

 _"You'll regret asking. I've seen hunchbacks with prettier faces than mine."_

 _"At least tell me what happened. In one meeting, General Prebensen told me more about the war than I've heard from you in a decade."_

 _"As it should be. I'm only a Major, not fit to brief you on the war effort. It's not my place."_

 _Her papa paused, staring at the short man in unabashed shock. "So when I go to the front lines and am gone for weeks, I shouldn't write my parents, wife, and daughters to let them know I'm still alive?! Listen to yourself Sindre!"_

 _Elsa barely stifled a gasp, her jaw unhinging. This_ _mean, disrespectful, surly man was the acclaimed Sindre Fretheim of Papa's boyhood adventures? No. She refused to believe it. The heroic Sindre of her imaginations was much, much taller for one. He had dapper curly hair of the deepest umber and eyes like polished teal. And he was always astride his gleaming black stead, the valiant Oscuro, a Florence-bred stallion. He was handsome and charming and funny and a very good dancer. He was woven from a young romantic's imaginings and day-dreams._

 _This was not_ _Sindre Fretheim, not_ her _Sindre Fretheim._

 _"You are the king." Imposter-Sindre's reply was stiff and measured, but Elsa could sense something dark lurking beneath his tone._

 _"And you're my best friend!" Her father all but shouted. "My ally. Does that mean nothing to you?"_

 _"Things change Adge! We're no longer fool-hardy young boys racing off on some new adventure. You have a family now and –" His voice cracked and with it, Elsa's heart. So sad and angry he was. She couldn't stand it, didn't allow anyone to cry in the gardens. Everyone must be happy here. "I can only pray Ingrid will still have me after this. But if she knows what's best for her and the boy, she'll find someone else."_

 _"You're not making any sense – how could you leave her…Ingrid is with child?" Her father's tone was aghast, although Elsa couldn't understand why exactly. "But – how?"_

 _"I'll thank you not to insult my wife Adgar." Sindre suddenly snarled, his hood jerking as he whipped around to face her father. "She found an abandoned babe in the forests and took him in. He'll be five now."_

 _"I didn't know."_

 _Papa placed a hand on his friend's shoulder, but Sindre smacked it away._

 _"No, you wouldn't. You were never meant to know. The less you knew the better." His rough voice took on a distant quality. "There's danger Adgar. Danger is coming and there's nothing any of us can do to stop it."_

 _"Still believing in old wives tales? I suppose some things never change –"_

 _"Don't condescend to me, King! You know full well this damned war with Tornio isn't natural!"_

Not…natural? What were they talking about?

 _"Sindre, what happen to you?" Elsa watched them, eyes wide. She'd never heard Papa so sorrowful. "You've changed."_

 _The man, perhaps once his dearest friend, but now a complete stranger, stared at him for a long moment held on the tip of a dagger. Finally Sindre turned._

 _"Life happened. War happened. Nightmares and legends long buried. The palace walls are bleeding and no one notices. Danger is coming –"_

 _"What are you talking about? Speak sense, not madness!"_

 _"And you're all too blind to see it." Sindre continued in that terrible voice, as though he hadn't been interrupted. "Good day Your Majesty."_

 _With that, he turned on his heel and stalked away, leaving Papa all alone._

 _And soon Papa left, leaving a little girl too young to understand to face her thoughts._

 _Danger is coming and you're all too blind to see it…_

* * *

Sindre Fretheim. Best friend, war hero, madman, ghost, all wrapped into one terrifying man.

"Your Majesty? Ma'am?" For the first time, Sir Fretheim's tone held just the barest hint of worry. Of concern. For his sovereign, or his former friend's eldest daughter, Elsa wasn't precisely sure.

A shiver ran down her spine. Danger is coming… The artist's renditions flashed into her mind, the accounts of monsters, the statistics – could they all be true?

"Ma'am?"

"Father mentioned you." Elsa managed, struggling to speak around the sick taste in her mouth.

Or at least he had, before that day in the garden, when his friend disappeared from his life for good with neither a trace nor clue to where he was headed. Father refused to talk of Sindre after that.

"He spoke often about your escapades." She added around a cool smile pasted not quite passably to her lips. Thankfully, Sir Fretheim had not even glanced her way, and after a moment, it fell completely.

"I didn't know he and Idun…" he cleared his throat, "I had been stationed at the Tornish border when they passed. I only found out after my discharge. I would have returned sooner, but I had to see to my wife –"

"Ingrid?"

Sindre startled, visibly ruffled. "That is correct, ma'am," he allowed slowly, drawing out the words. "You have an excellent memory ma'am…but I suppose it comes with the territory."

"Yes, I suppose it does." Elsa replied coolly, feeling distinctly certain he hadn't meant it as a compliment. "How is she?" Risking a brief glance sideways, she felt an unsuspecting twinge of sympathy when Sir Fretheim didn't answer right away, his Adam's apple bobbing rapidly, his jaw clenching.

"She's seen better days, ma'am."

"I'm sorry." She caught her bottom lip between her teeth, and then asked tentatively. "And your son, if you don't –?"

"Dead." The colonel grunted the single word like he'd just been punched in the stomach.

"Oh!" Elsa pressed her palm to her mouth – the two were becoming rather acquainted today – and mentally smacked herself. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to pry. I was just –"

"For all the blessed saints, please stop apologizing, ma'am." Sir Fretheim all but snapped. "It's well within your rights to interrogate my personal life and my reason being here. As soon as you are finished with Minister Vinter, I shall give you report. Will that be suitable, ma'am?"

"Yes." Her voice was a squeaky door hinge, high-pitched and fleeting.

"By your leave then, Your Grace."

Elsa startled, only now becoming fully aware of her surrounding, shocked that she hadn't realized the change. A wide marble corridor connected the palace to the chapel, making it technically part of the palace, though its entrance lay outside of the gates. A complicated architecture plan to be sure, one that Elsa suspected her ancestors were prideful of. In the time of divine right of kings, they surely thought it clever to combine the palace and the church, a visual reminder that they controlled both. Now it was simply a matter of convenience – and a lack of building supplies – that kept it stubbornly fastened to the palace.

Elsa eyed the towering wooden doors. They were plain and unadorned, and unlike the grand entrances of Catholic churches, theoretically ignorable. Yet she had always felt a… strangeness outside the doors. Not an eerie strangeness, pulsing with otherworldly power. Not even a slight disturbance, an inkling of an oddity. It was…it was…

"Your Grace?"

"Oh! Uh, pardon me Sir Fretheim. Yes, you may go. Thank you."

"I would say it was a pleasure, but then we would both agree that neither of us found this particular conversation enjoyable." He replied.

A veiled insult; Elsa couldn't decide whether he meant it for her, or himself. Her eyes followed his hunched-back as he walked down the white marble corridor, boots clacking slightly off-time with a limp he'd previously disguised. After exactly eighty-six beats, he rounded the corner and left Elsa in the silence of the hall.

Sunlight streamed in through the clerestory; dappled patterns shifted in a slow, sedate dance, like ballet dancers in shimmery gold costumes.

She turned away from it all, once again facing the doors. If she was to be honest, and she felt funny lying to herself outside of a church, they had always made her nervous. Witches had no place in a holy place.

But she also couldn't make Teo wait. Surely the minister had more important things to do than to encourage a ruler who should have already been confident in herself.

So, with nothing else to stop her, Elsa pushed open the doors and entered the chapel.


	5. Chapter 4: The Handmaiden's Secret

**A/N: It's very late, I know. Allow me to express a million and one apologies. I can't say it won't happen again, but I will keep on posting. I shan't clutter the beginning with a ridiculously long note, so all I shall say is enjoy and kindly review.**

 **Thank yous abound to Rachgraceh for being an amazing and utterly amusing beta and Jacob Flores for reviewing last chapter**

* * *

I must say, you write the most amusing beta comments XD I laughed myself silly the whole time! Thanks for loving Heidi as much as I do. I think Elsa will do well with a friend like her. All of Heidi's parts will be combined into one chapter for sake of time management. I had a scene in which Elsa enters the chapel and chats with Teo but it was moving too slow. After Heidi will be a Magnus poem, and then the ball and its events (probably broken up into 2 parts). To answer some questions, no, I did not research for Heidi's chapters (unless you count the anatomy and physiology classes I took in high school). I just thought of the general i react to minor injuries and multiplied it by like 10 (if that makes any sense!)

Iced snow cracked beneath stag's hooves as he frolicked across the frozen lake, tossing his head to and fro like a drunken wretch at the docks. He was a specimen and oh, by the saints did he know it. Without those snobbish reindeer prancing about, he was prince of this frosty kingdom. His thick, russet coat was smooth and unblemished, his massive antlers like splayed hands reaching up to finger paint the sky, his dark eyes bright and unafraid. Had he known what awaited him, what fate had in store, he'd have bolted, fled for the mountains, where he could have hidden amongst those herds of reindeer. But he saw nothing and sensed no danger. High as the treetops with the invincibility of youth, he was both brawny and bold, brash and utterly brainless.

Heidi watched him, ducked behind a sturdy pine tree thirty yards away. Donned in a mottled grey cloak, she resembled a shadow, wavering in the biting wind. She studied the stag as he foolishly drew closer to her tree, and shifted her weight, grimacing as the slight movement caused pins and needles to pepper her bunched legs.

Heidi slid a small throwing knife from her sleeve, lichen green eyes narrowing with anticipation. She continued to watch until the animal, her breath easing out in faintly frosted plumes. Watched until he stalled, snuffling his nose deep into the snow piled along the lake's shore as though searching for a non-existent blade of grass. Drawing her arm back, Heidi held the thin tapering blade aloft, and paused.

Inhaled a long, deep breath, the iciness biting her lungs.

Exhaled, her breath unfurling into in the morning's frigid air, forming clouds of tiny crystallized water droplets.

Murmured a brief apology.

Released the blade.

It flew from her hand, spinning, spinning, spinning.

She heard the solidity of its impact, vibrating against bone, squelching through tendons, and flinched.

For a moment the stag stood frozen, having uttered neither a cry nor wail.

Then he collapsed to the ice. The handle of her blade protruded from his eye. Death had come as swiftly as a lightning strike.

She might've smiled had she taken any relish in the hunt. But she didn't. Never had, never would. Her only satisfaction came from the knowledge that the meat would feed the never-full stomachs of the fugitives, of her people. That was all she needed now, she told herself. A cause to fight for. Nothing more.

Heidi readjusted her satchel before darted out onto the ice, sliding into a crouch when she reached her prey. She curled her tongue, skirling the high ki-ki-keeing whistle of a merlin bird, just loud enough to carry across the lake. She glimpsed a shock of timber black fur as a massive wolf skulked between the trees, and finally the ghost of a smile passed across her lips. Čoavvá always insisted he keep watch along the lake's border, her first line of defense should a patrol pass through.

Returning to the task at hand, Heidi shrugged off her pack. Firmly pressing her palm to the stag's still-warm cheek, she gripped the knife's handle with her other hand and pulled.

"Come on." She muttered when the blade remained fixedly struck. "I don't have time for this." And she didn't, not if they wanted to make it out with her head nicely intact. She'd already taken two hours to track the stag through the miles of woodland surrounding this blasted estate. Too long. She'd be missed at the palace, and she despised it when people started asking questions, 'specially the queen. She'd worry, and Heidi certainly couldn't have that. Hastily glancing at the rising sun, she cursed under her breath, redoubled her efforts.

"Come. On. Get. Out!" The knife suddenly unstuck with a gushing pop and a spatter of blood, the force jerking her back to the ice with a muffled grunt. Her hands scrabbled against the slippery frost, receiving a liberal spattering of blood from her knife.

Čoavvá's amber gaze burned into her back, prepared to leap from hiding at any sign of trouble. Whistling a calming kee, Heidi scrambled to her feet and swiped the blood away with a filthy rag and jammed it back into its sheath, trading it for a hunting knife hanging from the belt at her waist. With two decisive fells of the weapon, she sliced the antlers off the stag's proud head and bound them to her satchel. Whittled down they'd make excellent handles for new throwing knives. Heidi had lost more than she'd have liked to admit since she took up poaching… had it only been three years ago? It seemed so much longer than that. Shaking her head roughly to dismiss the useless thoughts, Heidi crouched over the stag, letting the cold numb her conscience. This was the part she hated the most.

 _Get on with it then. Your sentiments have no place here._

She made quick work of slitting the animal's throat and belly, peeling back the hide to reveal swells of scarlet muscle and a labyrinthine pattern of bluish veins, all covered with the transparent white of sinew and membrane. Warm blood squished over her bare fingers, cutting through their numbness as she carved slabs from the bones, and filling her nose with the cloying smell of iron. She sliced the entrails from the stomach cavity, plopping the mess of intestines unceremoniously into a smaller sack hanging from her waist, destined to become a snack for Čoavvá. The blood dripping from her hands steamed against the cold and stained the puddling ice red.

A more experienced poacher than she would have called her stupid, but she didn't have time to be neat, nor did she want to. Though hunting did an unfortunate thing to her stomach, she gleaned a perverse pleasure from taunting the city's darling Lord Kristiansen, and she almost wished she was employed in his household, just to see his reaction when his guards told him he'd lost yet another deer to the mysterious poacher. So when she'd butchered the meat and wrapped it into hasty parcels and stacked them in her satchel, Heidi tossed the stripped bones over the crimson patch, her lips curling with a smirk.

But another hurried look at the sun quelled her mischief. Thirty-three minutes and forty-six, five, four seconds.

Then she heard Čoavvá's warning growl.

 _Mistress, eyes up! Stay low!_

The distant whinny of an approaching horse.

Heidi snapped her head up so quickly that the bones in her neck crackled. Every muscle she possessed control over went as taut as a drawn bow string. She shoved up from her crouch, skirting back to the tree line. Her long knives fell to her hands and she gripped them with whitened knuckles. Pressing against the pine like a clinging shadow, she risked a peek before jerking hard back against the trunk. Her mind fired in rapid succession, cataloging every snatch of information. She swore violently under her breath.

The odds were not in her favor today.

A lone man road riding astride a gleaming black Friesian stallion, cantered out onto the frozen lake, ignoring his horse's unease. Digging his spurs cruelly into its sides.

Patrol guard. The sword stapled to his saddle and the Kristiansen coat of arms emblazoned on his armor made that inarguably clear. That meant he had some skill with the weapon, as opposed to the rich, foppish goons in the queen's court who wore them only to impress the ladies.

Late thirties. Burly to the point that she pitied the horse. At least three times her size. Big enough that he'd be slow and heavy of his feet in a fight, but also big enough that he could easily snap her in two with the merest flex of his massive arms.

She recognized him too. Gosta Losnedahl. A frequenter of underworld bars and the terror of Arendelle's tavern girls. She'd heard enough rumors and horror stories to make her blood boil white hot with rage. So many beaten within an inch of their life. So many left with child and only the scorn of their neighbors to greet them. One driven to leaping off the cliff surrounding the fjord to escape his torture night after night. Heidi clenched her jaw, the motion setting her teeth scraping against each other.

He looked exactly how she imagined him. Down to that posture of boredom she so despised in men; the ones that let their minds wander just a tad too far. That bearing of a man who thought to crush innocent girls under his feet and leave them broken and shattered…she knew the type. And as soon as she'd heard of him, she instantly hated him.

But he was early…how could the patrol be early?! And off the usual route, at that? She knew their system, had it memorized perfectly. Unless….

They only could've known if someone had told them. Tipped them off for the sake of a coin or two to line their blasted pockets.

It would seem they had a traitor in their ranks.

And Heidi had a feeling that she knew precisely who it was. She cursed again, grinding her teeth so hard her jaw ached.

Sniveling coward. If he wanted her dead, and this betrayal was a sure sign he did, he should've done it boldly. Leaped before her, gun drawn, sword ready, knife flying. Faced her head on. Dared try to match her prowess. Just not like this. Not this hidden knife to her side, this whispered laugh, this whoosh of a cloak as he slipped back into the shadows.

He would pay. She'd make sure of it.

Creeping up like a wraith, Čoavvá's presence suddenly pressed against her mind.

 _I can destroy him in a matter of seconds, mistress. Just give the order._

She could practically feel the saliva dripping from his fangs at the thought. Actually, it wasn't a bad idea. Tempting too. The world would be better off without Gosta Losnedahl. She could use her training for good this time. Rid Arendelle of this despicable vermin. But…

 _No. Stand down. We wait 'til he leaves, then hightail it for the border._

 _It'd be easier to kill him._ The wolf growled impatiently, dismissively. _Faster too._

Heidi didn't respond, knowing he was right, but not wanting to admit it. Čoavvá would only see it as permission and she wouldn't let him sic the farmers of this region upon himself. Even if he could dodge them all, seek sanctuary with the trolls, many other beasts would be killed to achieve it. She already had enough murders on her head from the hunts, she didn't need any more than was necessary.

Losnedahl had seen the stag's carcass by now, and he trotted over, dismounting to inspect it more thoroughly. His horse wavered, preparing to bolt at the barest hint of danger, eyes wild, nostrils flaring, sides heaving. He knew they were there. Could sense her heightened pulse. Smell the dried blood sticky and pasty under her fingernails.

Fool. Heidi would've kicked herself had the situation permitted it. If she was caught now, she had only herself to blame, reckless ninny she was. Some poacher she made. Granted she was out of her element, thievery, pick-pocketing, and recently espionage being more her area of expertise, but that was no excuse. She'd gotten sloppy on the job she hadn't wanted, and now she was going to pay for it.

Or more precisely, Losnedahl was going to pay for it.

Heidi Lura didn't pay for anything and she wasn't planning to start on the account of a lower-than-pond-scum patrol guard.

At the risk of insulting the algae, of course.

Though if – _when_ she got away, a good shin-kicking would definitely be in order.

Right after she buried a knife into the spine of certain ravenstarver for ratting her out.

But first she had to deal with that horse.

Almost insusceptible, Heidi reached out, just barely brushing the creature's conscience and impressing images of warm stables and kindly stable hands and emerald green pastures where he could run and run to his heart's content.

 _Peace, dear heart_. She hummed, pressing deeper, latching on to a name, a memory, anything she could to sway him. _Calm, Torden. You're among friends. Safe and sound. I'll protect you. There's nothing to fear. Nothing at all_. His racing mind, stiffening at first from the intrusion, gradually mellowed. Tension eased from his muscles like waves releasing their churning swells over the gritty sand of the fjord. Heidi released a breath of relief she hadn't realized she'd been holding.

Until she noticed the blood trail.

It wasn't much, just a few drops here and there, sprinkled stark and incriminating over the colorless monotony of the ice, but it led right to her tree. Right to her hiding place.

Losnedahl noticed it seconds after she did, and his lips twisted into a triumphant sneer. She could practically hear the menacing creaks of the ice as he drew closer. Closer.

The sailors at the docks would have blushed like prissy little school-marms had they heard her language.

 _Mistress…?_

 _Wait 'til he leaves and hightail it for the border? Brilliant plan, Heidi._ She grumbled to herself before hissing. _Spook the horse!_

 _Finally._

The hairs on the back of her neck rose as a bone-chilling howl split the frozen air. The trees stiffened and even the wind seemed to shiver. It concealed the slither of her long-knives being drawn from their sheaths and rustle of her mask being drawn up to hide all but her eyes. For a drawn out breath the world was incased in sound that rose right out of the pits of Hades.

The howl died and all of Hell broke loose.

With a scream of terror, the horse broke for the tree line, eyes rolling back into his sockets, as he disappeared into the tangled dark wood. At the same moment Čoavvá streaked out onto frozen lake, a blur of shadow and sinew and snapping white fangs. Losnedahl stumbled back, yelling, cursing, hands floundering for the hunting knife at his belt. He raised it over his head as the wolf leaped, swiping at his underbelly. Her friend yelped as the blade struck his back leg.

 _Čoavvá!_

Snarling, Heidi sprang out from behind the pine tree, sprinting across the ice. Her first thrown knife glanced off Losnedahl's shoulder, catching his attention. The second sliced his brow as he spun around. He swore, clapping his hand to his forehead as blood fell into his eyes.

And then she was upon him.

He blocked her first strike to the ribs, and she used his lowered arm to vault upward, noosing her legs around his neck and sending them crashing to the ground. Losnedahl bellowed in pain as she used her leverage to dislocate his shoulder, sending his fist barreling into her side. Hissing, she jerked away, rolling, crouching, slicing her leg under Losnedahl's as he struggled to regain his footing. Losnedahl hit the ground with another grunt. Heidi sprang up, bouncing on the balls of her feet.

 _Čoavvá, I've got him! Find the rest of the patrol!_

 _Yes, mistress._

Limply slightly, then gradually evening his stride, the wolf raced off. Losnedahl scrabbled to his feet and lunged for her. Heidi side-stepped, letting him stumble, and swooped up her knives, holding them out threateningly.

"Is that the best you got?" She taunted as he spun back around, dropping her voice two octaves to a thick brogue. "Somehow I expected more from Kristiansen's lorded captain, unless you're even less of a man than he is."

"Silence, brat!"

"My, have I hit a nerve? It seems the rumors haven't lied after all."

Face contorting hideously in rage, Gosta lashed out with his knife. Heidi ducked and aimed a kick for his abdomen. Her boot slammed into the protruding lump of his belly, eliciting a pained groan. She drove her knee into his groin, snapping his nose when he doubled over. Darting away, Heidi struck at his sides with her knives, twisting and stinging like an angry wasp.

She _was_ angry. Angry at world for producing men like Losnedahl, angry at the traitor she now had no choice but to hand over, angry at the death toll of stags and otters and rabbits to fill the never-ceasing appetites of the refugees.

Angry at the queen's timidity, at how she cowered to Kristiansen's will, never standing up for herself.

Angry that she was too sweet and kind for Heidi to truly fault her for it.

Angry that she could do nothing to save her people.

And it was in her anger that she made her mistake.

Focus ninny!

But the thought came too late, too slow, too lethargic as it fought through the iron wall of her rage. She'd lunged, not remembering to account for the ice. She slid farther than necessary, left her torso exposed.

So when Losnedahl's hunting knife slashed across her ribs, bit into her chest, the fault was no one's but her own.

Heidi barely suppressed a scream that kicked and pounded against clenched teeth. Warmth trickled over her side, dripped down her belly. Her head felt stuffy, her thoughts like goop as pain overrode the signals shooting around her brain. Dazed, she stumbled back, tripped, crashed down to the ice.

Immediately a weight crushed into her ribs, into the wound. Hands pinned her arms at her sides, her fingertips barely brushing the tops of her boots. With a new burst of panic, the world cleared to pinpoint precision. Ice burned through her leathers, searing her back with cold. Losnedahl knee dug into her sternum, making it hard to draw breath. Heidi struggled, flailed, thrashed, bit, snapped, new panic igniting the adrenalin roaring in her ears. Hands groped at her neck, chin, cheeks. Ripped her mask free with a snarl of fabric.

Losnedahl's expression turned from rage to shock. From shock to comprehension.

And from comprehension to a leer that turned every drop of blood pummeling through Heidi's veins to ice.

"Well, well, well." He chuckled, low and despicable, as his tiny eyes raked over her. "What do we have here?"

"Your worst nightmare." Heidi spat, a glob of spittle catching on his mustache. He either didn't notice it, too enthralled in staring at her face to notice his own, or he didn't care.

"I'd sleep better if all my nightmares looked like you." Losnedahl sneered, his eyes dropping lower, lower, then slowly snaking back to her face. "Then again, maybe not."

She called him a name that would have caused the queen to burst into tears, but the captain only sniggered. "Feisty little she-wolf, aren't you." One filthy hand came up to pet her cheek, trailing down to her throat. "Just how I like em."

Heidi bucked, catching his fingers in her teeth, and bit down hard.

Her assailant howled and tried to wrench his hand away, loosening his hold ever so slightly. She nudged her fingers into her boot and brushed the handle. Lower. Just a few inches lower. Her fingertips brushed steel.

Do this Heidi!

Jaw aching, mouth flooding with his blood, she sank her teeth deeper, the crack of bone and Losnedahl's scream shuddering through her ear drums. Her hand twined around solid metal. Her teeth held firm.

Only when his fist pounded into her temple did she release him, head throbbing from the force of the blow. Nausea made her vision spin, sent the world around her somersaulting like a troupe of troubadours at Summer Festival. Through half-shuttered lids she stared up at his bloody face.

"You're going to pay for that, chit." Losnedahl snarled, breaths ragged with pain, eyes flashing with blood lust.

She twisted her lips into a smirk. "Not today."

Her fingers tightened their grip. She whipped the pistol out from her boot, jammed it into his forehead. For a hairbreadth of a second she saw the surprise that turned to realization that turned to terror.

She fired.

* * *

By the time she reached the palace, the sun was beginning to slip down the curve of the sky, haloed by clouds like a perfect sunny-side-up egg sliding out of Frida's pan for breakfast.

Her stomach snarled with hunger

Her bandages dripped with blood

Heidi could feel it, sliding warm and sticky over her skin, oozing from the hasty stitching. If she didn't hurry it would stain her white blouse, and though it wouldn't show under her simple black _bunad_ , Gerda would likely drop dead of a heart attack if she found so much blood on her clothes. Saints only knew what conclusions she would come to. Heidi decided she didn't feel so bad about the supplies she'd filched.

Blasted apothecary.

The girl he'd sent to patch her up had either been incompetent, or scared witless at the sight of so much blood, only half of it Heidi's. Couldn't really blame her though, much as she wanted to. Covered with the captain's blood, her black hair had turned auburn and her white skin seemed stained mahogany. She was the dead come back to life, only about twenty times gorier. Probably lucky the girl hadn't fainted on sight of her, if only from the stench. Had it been high summer, Heidi imagined she'd have been coated with flies. Even after the hasty bath, the smell of iron and death and decay still clotted her nostrils, making her sick to her stomach.

Either way, between the _pika's_ lousy stitchery and Heidi's haste to return to palace, her wound was tearing. Coupled with demon five-hundred-something stairs snaking up through the servant's passages, the pain was just starting to become unbearable.

She officially hated stairs. They could all burn in effigy.

Cementing her jaw together, she forced herself to move on, fisting her _bunad_ to her thighs, exposing the various knives and pistols she kept strapped around her leather trousers. One could never have too many.

Hiking several more flights, she nearly wilted in relief when she spied the door leading to the servant's quarters, and she hurried on, picking up her pace.

Too quick. Too fast.

Would she never learn?!

Heidi shrieked as her foot slipped from the worn stone, sending her arms pinwheeling for a hand hold. She threw her shoulder into wall to keep from falling down, down, down, and scrabbled her fingers over the dry, moisture-sucking stone. Blood dribbled down her thigh. Her equilibrium wobbled. Spots darted in and out of her vision, darkness and light muddling like a broken kaleidoscope. She bit her lip before a whimper escaped her panting lips.

The floor was such a long way off from here.

Sucking in a shallow breath wrought with curses, she slipped in and out of Norwegian, German, and Dutch at will – the Sami and French she kept only for special occasions. Nearly falling three stories didn't warrant such a response. Had she actually fallen, well… Yet even with the cacophony of foulness, her eyes pricked dangerously as searing pain ricocheted through her chest.

 _DonotcrydonotcrydonotcryDONOTCRY!_

That was her second rule, inferior only to the first: Heidi Lura didn't pay and, wretched, useless saints be damned, Heidi Lura did not cry.

Ever.

She let her eyes flicker shut. She turned her head so that her cheek pressed into the rough, icy cold stone. She imagined that her tongue was glued to the top of her mouth, pressed so close she could taste the tiny ridges of boning. So close that she couldn't possibly scream, even if she sorely wanted to.

And trice-blasted saints above, she wanted to.

Of course, if she screamed, the sound would echo through the thin corridors and stairwells, and send every resident of the palace into a frenzied search, so shrieking and howling and pounding her fists to the ground like a wailing child on the verge of a temper tantrum was not an option.

Pity.

Wrapping her arms like a cinch around her abdomen, Heidi opened her eyes, and finding her sight suitably repaired, slowly pushed away from the wall and stumbled the tiny, incremental steps to the wooden door. Her breaths stuttered from her lungs in pitiful gasps when she came to rest against it, pressing her ear to the wood, willing the hall to be empty.

Blessed, glorious silence greeted her.

Grasping the door handle with sickly pale knuckles, Heidi willed strength into her limbs and quietly shouldered the door ajar, peeking through. The rickety, wooden hall, frail and spindly with age, was bare as a newborn babe. Roughly shoving the door the rest of the way open, Heidi staggered over to her room – last one on the left with protective runes carved precise and neat into the frame – breathing heavily through her nose. Groping for the key in her pocket she fell against the door as she jammed it into the lock.

Click.

Heidi collapsed into her room, nearly sprawling onto the worn length of carpet before she caught herself on a chair. Kicking the door shut, and vaguely remembering to lock it and slid the bolts into place, she dragged her body to the washbasin and small hearth, scooping up her medicine pack and depositing it with the stolen bottle of poultice and gauze. Her shaky fingers fumbled for the flint and steel, but with a few quick sparks, she lit the kettle hanging in the fireplace. Sinking to her knees, Heidi sloppily undid the laces down the bodice of her _bunad_ , tugging it down around her waist, and over her legs. Removing her blouse, chemise, and bandages were trickier; they were nearly plastered to her skin with layers of dried blood – Heidi did use the French then, hissing obscenities as she cut and tore away the fabric glued to her abdomen and breast.

No corset tonight, then. The thought almost made her smirk. How utterly scandalized the court ladies would be.

Water steamed and splashed as she poured it into the shallow basin. Dipping a cloth into the heat, Heidi steeled herself, and quickly dabbed the hot water to the inflamed skin, grinding her teeth as she scrubbed the blood away, then began the process of snipping the stitches away. The gory strands fell onto of the heap of soiled rags as she pulled them from her flesh. Fresh blood seeped into the rivulets of water still on her skin, diluting and dripping to the wooden floor.

 _Get a grip._ The next part would be worse. Biting down on the wooden cork stopping a bottle of medicinal whiskey, she gave it a yank. Heidi stuffed one hand into her mouth, controlling the flow of the liquid with the other, thumb partially pressed over the opening, and dribbled the alcohol over the cut.

Hellfire blazed over her skin, tunneling into her bones. The hand in her mouth turned to a fist as she bit down, a shrill squeal muffled. Involuntary tears caught on her long lashes as she squeezed her eyes shut.

 _Breathe. Just breathe._

Dry-heaving as her head whirled and her empty stomach surged, Heidi removed her hand from her mouth, clenched her jaw, and patted the wound dry. She fished her stitching kit from the pack, sterilized and threaded the needle and sewed.

The trick to mending oneself, as opposed to mending a raggedy sock, is to do it quickly. To hesitate was to dwell on the pain, to stop mid-way was to tempt herself to stop. So her hand was a blur, dipping in and out, in and out, in and out, with small, precise flicks of her wrist. The task was completed in less than two minutes. Excess dots of blood pearled along the thin line, but she washed them away.

Glancing in the mirror, Heidi pursed her lip, spreading the slimy green poultice over the puckered stitchery, and tightly binding her ribs and chest with gauze. It would leave an ugly scar, though no worse than the ones crisscrossed across her back. She caught sight of them in her reflection, peeking above and below the length of snow white bandages, and flinched. Shifting so that she didn't have to look at them, she pulled a blanket discarded from her messy bed, up and around her shoulders, curling up by the fire.

Watching the flames comforted her, hypnotized her mind until she was little more than a husk, void of emotion and feeling. She reminded herself she didn't care. So what if her body was scarred beyond repair? So what if a beautiful face hid a soul as black as pitch and filthy as mire?

Beautiful.

She'd heard the word tossed and traded around since she was little. A beautiful child. A beautiful girl. A beautiful young lady. Breathtaking, striking, gorgeous, angelic.

"Black as ebony, white as snow, green as a clover, red as a rose." Voice cracking, she sang under her breath, twisting her lips in a pained grimaced.

 _No, not red as a rose, Father._

Red as blood.

The heat of the fire wafted over her like a caress; a gentle hand. She felt it sinking deep down and her limbs went limp. Eyelids heavy, she told herself she'd rest for just five minutes. Five minutes of reprieve before she would ready for the ball, attend to her mistresses.

Just a light nap, a little rest…

But she had barely finished the thought when the darkness dragged her under.

* * *

She awoke to pounding.

Curling herself tighter into a ball, Heidi stifled a pathetic groan just dying to be released, hands immediately going to her chest. Every bone, every muscle, every inch of her skin throbbed. Her head full with mothballs and thumbscrews and, dry as the castle stone, her tongue tasted sour and thick; a dead slug against her teeth.

The pounding started up again, louder this time. Moaning, she peeled her eyes open, blinking at the sudden brightness. Embers glowed scarlet in the hearth, casting her small quarters into heavy shadow, the sun only a memory outside the row of windows lining the back wall. She could just spy a winking of stars beyond the tattered curtains, a glimpse of Orion's sparkling belt.

"Heidi? Heidi, are you in here? It's Nessa Auntie Gerda's driving everyone up a wall – oh please be here!"

Nessa.

Nessa!

All at once she was wide awake.

" _Par le sang de Dieu!_ "

Scrambling to her feet with one arm clutched around her waist, she careened sideways, choking back a shrill cry. Heaving as a wave of pain shuddered over her. The blanket pooled around her legs when she managed her trembling legs to straighten beneath her.

 _Idiot! How could you fall asleep?_

"Aye – I'm here – just give me – five minutes." Heidi gulped out, limping to her changing screen. A simple charcoal gown and various under things hung by a hook.

 _Blasted clothes!_

"Oh thank the heavens, the queen is frantic!" Nessa yelped, sounding very much the frantic one, voice high-pitched and shrill against Heidi's eardrums. "Have you taken leave of your senses, Heidi? The ball is set to start an hour! Quick, open up, I'll fix your gown."

Heidi swiped the latter of the clothes and gingerly stripped out of her leggings and weapons, a sharp breath hissing through her teeth as she yanked up woolen pantyhose to her thighs.

" _Tous les saints peuvent brûler en enfer_!" The curse burst from her in a wheeze as she slipped her chemise over her head, ever grateful that the strays ran down the front. Knotting them as tight as she could bear, she eyed the mound of bloody clothing piled haphazardly near the hearth, gasping.

"I – got it."

 _That's it, Heidi. Ignore the pain. It doesn't exist. You've faced worse. This is child's play. Mere child's play._

"Don't be ridiculous. You'll need help with your corset!" Squawking incredulously, Nessa jiggled the door handle, rattling the bolts.

Her corset. Right...

 _Well you see Nessa, I was stupid enough to get myself stabbed today, and if I try to stuff myself in that idiotic thing, I would either pass out from pain, or rip my stitching again and pass out from blood loss. I'm passing out on the ballroom floor regardless. So, aye._ No _._

"Truly – fine."

After that she blocked Nessa out. Focused on each individual task should her brain self-destruct from the overload of keeping her body upright, and trying to maintain a pleasant exchange with the flighty maid.

Layers of petticoats rustled about her ankles.

Her favorite dagger was strapped to a woven leather sheath at her thigh.

An array of finely tapered throwing knives were hidden on her person by various means.

A pistol and extra lead bullets slid smoothly into her hastily strapped boots.

Kristiansen would be furious tonight. Oh, he wouldn't show it. No, he was far too skilled a liar to let his emotions slip. But he'd be desperate. And desperate men were dangerous men. She'd have to trail him all evening, never take her eyes from him and deal with whatever rumors it would start in court.

When he made his move, and he would make his move – like Heidi, he'd been reading the queen's private reports. Plague, monstrous attacks from the North, impending war with Tornio – those accursed mongrels – Arendelle was at the eye of whatever storm was coming their way.

No matter.

When Kristiansen made his move, she'd be ready for him. The queen – praise be to whoever had a care to listen – was thus far succeeding in avoiding his conquest, but it was only a matter of time before she caved. She _always_ caved. Despite whatever life-changing feats had taken place during the Great Thaw, instilling the young monarch with courage had not been one of them.

Queen Elsa Katarina Hardrada was weak.

A coward.

She had no idea what it was to suffer, truly suffer.

To barely survive.

To fight a losing battle with no thought of giving up.

Oh, Heidi knew of her past. Nearly killing her sister as a child. Imprisoned in her room for thirteen years after. Sending the kingdom into an almost eternal winter. It only served to prove her point. For all her life the queen had been acting and reacting according to her fear. And if that fear caused her to accept Kristiansen's all too enticing terms– she'd become well acquainted with his private study over the past year – in some foolish bid to save the kingdom…

Heidi pressed her palms to her cheeks to cool the feverish heat flooding them.

Bernhard Kristiansen would not become Arendelle's king. That tyrant would not take over Norway. Would never have her people. She refused to give him the barest advantage. She _would_ see him destroyed. Even if she had to threaten the queen on pain of death, she'd make sure of that.

Firmly resolved, Heidi stepped into the silken gown. It was one of the late queen's, the color of storm clouds and embers gone cold. Anna had barely glanced at it the day they'd sorted through them, putting aside those worth salvaging. This one she'd tossed aside instantly, insisting that neither she nor Elsa would ever dare wear it. Drab, she'd declared it. Drab and dull.

Which meant it suited Heidi's purposes perfectly. She could fade away in a color like that. Escape the notice of leering lords and prattling ladies – theoretically.

Light and billowing, the skirt was accented with tiny silver wolves, reindeer, and lynxes racing along the hems, and hawks swooping higher into the voluminous folds of the skirt; it was passably pretty without drawing notice.

Perfect for a spy.

It settled over her like a veil of mist, puddling just enough about her feet to conceal her leather boots. Biting down hard on her lip, she twisted uncomfortably to do up the buttons. They were little beads of mother-of-pearl, every now and then catching the firelight and shimmering with iridescence, hinting of far status beyond her station – where _did_ assassins rank, she wondered. Her tumbling hair would hide them though, so Heidi didn't pay them much heed. Relatively satisfied – all things considered, it was the best she could muster – she glanced at her reflection in her mirror…and frowned.

Too beautiful. Always too beautiful. She felt like death and looked like an accursed fairy child. The modest neckline of the gown accentuated what curves it showed and the dark color make her moon pale features shine alabaster white. Even her hair couldn't bother to muss itself up, framing her cheekbones in ebony curls. Not an ounce of makeup and her lashes still curled thick and full around her eyes when she blinked, her full lips still pouted red as garnets.

Red as blood…

Disgusted, Heidi looked away and hobbled to her door, snapping back the bolts, yanking the door with more force than necessary – this, she regretted instantly – and mustering a smile that twitched with all kinds of deception.

Time to act.


End file.
